


knock down drag out

by any_open_eye



Category: Helluva Boss (Web Series)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Behavior, F/M, M/M, Multi, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28117659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/any_open_eye/pseuds/any_open_eye
Summary: "You kissed me, sir!" Moxxie's eyes widen slightly like he doesn't know who said it and he'd like to throttle them if he ever finds out."I have no idea what you mean.” Blatant, indefensible lies are a strategy, if not a good one.(Moxxie save Blitzo from a gang of marauding teens. Blitzo gets caught in the moment)
Relationships: Blitzo/Millie/Moxxie (Helluva Boss)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 70





	knock down drag out

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for canon-typical everything. Blitzo is very much his canon self.

So this is it, Blitzo. This is how it ends. A basic ass gang of demented teenagers, all their teeth polished to gleaming metal shines, menacing you beside an old building that you’re pretty sure someone pissed against. 

“You’re huge for an imp,” one of the Bad Teens says to you. 

“Yeah, yeah, my mom was a fat-ass, okay? Do you want me to apologize for her eating disorder? Is that what you want?” The words just drift out of you. One day that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble. Well, it already has. 

“Nice coat, though,” one of the other teens says. God, do you hate children. Especially children with knives. Especially children with knives when you don’t have your gun with you because your hellhound stepped on it when she was high on horse tranquilizers the day before.

The meanest and hippest teen slides the knife across your throat. 

“Shouldn’t you all be sexting each other and getting radicalized on the internet?” You don’t actually know anything about teens. “Try drugs sometime, those’ll calm you right down!” 

The knife cuts into the meat of your neck. 

Fleetingly, you hope that wherever you go when you double-die, it’s at least got wifi. You brace yourself. 

“Sir!” 

A familiar voice rings down the alleyway, followed by the sweet symphony of sympathetic gunshots. As in, gunshots not aimed at you. The teens scatter. You look up to see a silhouette painted against the lights on the street. 

The teen who was menacing you lies moaning on the ground, clutching a hole in their thigh. You ignore them. It’s rude to point out when someone else is crying. 

“Moxxie! Oh god, your timing is getting better, buddy!” You stagger up to him, noting as you do that he seems taller than usual. Oh shit, that’s because you’ve slid to the ground on trembling legs. Jesus fuck, why are you swooning? “But your aim could be better, you didn’t even make the killshot!” 

“I wasn’t aiming to kill, sir,” Moxxie says. “Sir, are you okay, you look—.” 

The light is shining around his head like a halo. He looks like an angel. Are you drunk? You might be drunk. 

“Sir!” 

“Well, you’ve always been a bleeding heart asshole,” you say, and kiss Moxie on the mouth. 

“Um.” 

You pull away. Moxxie’s face is frozen in a rictus. You’re pretty sure all of his bodily processes have stopped. 

“UMM!?!?!?” 

Ah, you see the problem. You did that for real, instead of just imagining doing it whenever you see this little scrappy piece of shit. “Whoops,” you say, and slump down into a faint. 

You wake up in the hospital—what? What are you talking about, of course hell has hospitals, hospitals are horrible, everyone hates hospitals—with bandages around your middle and some incredibly itchy stitches. Oh. That makes sense. Seems like you were way more stabbed than you’d initially thought you were. One of those teens must have slid it in you when you were busy quipping.

So hopefully everything that happened after that was just a fever dream. From Moxxie coming to your rescue, to you planting your traitorous lips on his face. Yeah. Probably didn’t happen at all. 

After you’re discharged—as in, after you shimmy down the fire escape in order to avoid paying your bill and in doing so reopen about four-fifths of your stitches and have to redo them yourself in front of your bathroom mirror with a sewing needle—you kick back on your couch with the remote and a bottle of prescription drugs. You’re feeling pretty good. 

So when your buzzer sounds you almost don’t get up. You wouldn’t, honestly, if the unreal amount of oxycontin floating through your body didn’t make you feel like you were literally oozing down into a plate of cozy marshmallows. 

You open the door. “What? I don’t give donations and I only buy cookies if —Oh.” 

Moxxie and Millie stand on your doorstep. Moxxie holds a bouquet of slightly wilted flowers, and Millie has what you hope isn’t supposed to be a casserole. 

“Oh…….” 

Moxxie is looking everywhere but at you, and he’s bright red. Well, he’s always bright red but he’s even redder than usual. Not a dream. Okay. 

“Boss! We’re so glad you’re okay!” Through some sort of black magic, Millie manages to hug you, hold on to the casserole, and drag her husband through the front door all at the same time. She deposits the dish on your counter, carefully nudging aside a stack of paperwork and crusty plates. “We came to make sure you were healin’ up! And we brought you these!” She grabs the wilted bunch of flowers. “Moxxie picked them out!” 

Moxxie goes, if possible, even redder, and mumbles something into the collar of his shirt. You raise an eyebrow and take a sniff. You aren’t sure what smells worse, the flowers or the casserole, but you really wish they hadn’t brought either of them into your apartment. You’ve gotten the ph balance exactly right; the delicate combination of rotting food, unwashed clothes, and eau du single dude. 

“Okay, so…” You dump yourself back onto the couch, wave them toward the other bits of furniture in your living room, and sing-song, “What do you want?” 

Moxxie looks at Millie, whose smile has become just slightly more fixed. You decide that playing dumb is really the only way to get through this. “Listen, if you’re here to try to wheedle a raise out of me in my injured state—.” You cast a dramatic arm across your brow. “—Well, I’d probably agree to anything right now because I am high as balls, so well-played, kids, But--." 

"You kissed me, sir!" Moxxie's eyes widen slightly like he doesn't know who said it and he'd like to throttle them if he ever finds out. 

You rearrange your limbs slightly. "I have no idea what you mean.” Blatant, indefensible lies are a strategy, if not a good one. 

"See, honey? I told you it was all just a misunderstanding!" Millie starts, her drawl kind and infuriatingly patient. No one has ever been that patient with you in your entire life. In fact, you have no idea what someone like Millie is doing in this cesspool of an apartment, washed up with all the detritus of your life. She's too good for Moxxie, which means she is way too good for you. 

"And I've told you, it was not a misunderstanding!" Moxxie talks with his hands, back and forth, back and forth, long fingers moving like anemones. “Unless he was trying to kiss the brick wall, and just missed and got me instead!" Back and forth. You want to put them in your mouth. 

"What?!?" 

Oh. Shit. Did you say that out loud? 

"You want to put my anemone in your mouth? Sir, what the FUCK does that mean?" 

"Oh, what the hell do you think it means, Moxx?" You roll your eyes. You've done nothing today but pop pills but you're still far too sober for this conversation. "Okay, fine. Yeah, I kissed you, so the fuck what? I've kissed lots of people and I was also, in case you forgot, extremely impaled! At the time! So fuck off." You put up a finger as Moxxie starts to splutter. "And another thing! You thought you'd bring your wife to have this conversation for you? What, were you hoping she'd kick my ass or are you that thirsty for a threeway?" You put as much venom as you can into it, as if the very idea is ridiculous, as if it isn't the thing you get yourself off to every night when you close your eyes. 

Moxxie looks absolutely stricken. You've either completely scandalized him, or nailed it in one go. 

"I just don't--." Moxxie blows out a hard breath. He's so worked up that's he's trembling. From rage? Probably from rage. "I don't GET you, sir!" 

"We're off the clock, you can call me Blitzo. I mean, Blitz. Drop the o. Or don't, whatever, I'm stoned." 

Moxxie appears to be counting to ten. Maybe Millie's gotten him to actually do those breathing techniques. "I don't get you...Blitzo." He winces. Yeah, you agree, that's pretty weird. "You act like I'm scum under your shoes, you call me all sorts of names--." Lol. Yeah, you really do. "But then sometimes I catch you looking at me, and I feel like--well, I feel like if our HR department wasn't a demented hellhound who smells like a garbage dump, I'd have to call it!" 

He drops his hands. He's waiting for a response. Millie is looking at him glowingly. He's probably been practicing this all afternoon.

A thousand denials crowd your mouth. Call him a moronic dickwipe and get him out of your apartment. Done, problem solved. 

You cough into your fist. "Christ, Moxx. If you think calling someone a pussy bitch and wanting to nail them are mutually exclusive, I have no idea how you've managed to get this far in life." 

"You--." Moxxie swallows visibly. "You've never called me a pussy bitch." 

"Well." You fling a hand up. "Now I have." You stare very fixedly at a stain on your ceiling. Who the fuck even knows what's going on up there. "If you want to quit, fine. I'll just find someone else to--." 

"I'm not going to quit," Moxxie says quietly. You can't help it. You look at him. He's watching you with something close to wonder in his eyes. Either that or your visual processing is beginning to degrade, that's a definite possibility. “Aren’t—aren’t you sleeping with that Duke?” 

“What? The bird? No.” Yes. “Only a little.” At least once a week. “And I don’t even like it.” Apart from when you do. “And it’s strictly business.” Except for the way Stolas looks at you like you’re the answer to all of his most fervent prayers. Christ. You’re gonna have to deal with that eventually. 

“So what’s…this?” Moxxie circles his fingers around the three of you. You glance at Millie. You’re honestly surprised she hasn’t pulled a knife on you yet to give you a matching gut wound on the other side. But she’s smiling at the both of you like this had all been her idea. What, so she wants you to fuck her husband? What the fuck is it with you and fucking husbands? 

“What’s what, Moxx, I don’t know. I just got overcome by your irresistible masculinity when you saved me from a crowd of disgusting children.” You shudder. “You guys are the ones who came to follow up, you tell me. And disclaimer—I am about 94% opiates right now so my chances of an erection are basically slim to none.” 

Moxxie and Millie share a glance. “Welllllll,” she draws out the L to torturous proportions. “What else can you do?” 

You stretch out to your full and considerable height. Those teens were right about one thing, you are definitely big for an imp. “Well, I can suck dick like I’m getting paid for it.” 

“Don’t you actually get paid for it?” 

“Moxxie, don’t be nasty!” 

“He’s being nasty!” 

You flick on the tv. Netflix and chill it is. “Moxxie, order a pizza. I appreciate your wife but that casserole smells like ass.” 

Moxxie’s smile droops. “I made that casserole.” 

“Well, it smells like ass.” 

He pouts and pulls out his phone. “Fine. You’r the boss. But we’re getting veggie.” 

You sigh. You hate veggie. But you’ll deal with it.


End file.
